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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25780105">But We've Only Just Met</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMalapert/pseuds/TheMalapert'>TheMalapert</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Comedy, Jaskier is a fool, Jaskier needs some Communication Classes, Lil' Bleater - Freeform, M/M, Meet the Family, brief Jaskier/Lambert, but like it's funny, except they already met, for the drama</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:40:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,101</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25780105</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMalapert/pseuds/TheMalapert</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaskier has neglected to tell Geralt that he's already met all the wolves of Kaer Morhen.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>471</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>But We've Only Just Met</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jaskier was in quite the awkward conundrum. The crumbling towers of Kaer Morhen were a wrinkle in the mountain’s haze. All the way up this path, and he still hadn’t mustered the courage to tell Geralt that he may have already been introduced to a few of his brothers. And sucked one of their cocks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roached huffed as Geralt pulled her reigns, stopping her. Jaskier plastered his trademark bard smile onto his face for Geralt’s trademark glare.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can smell your nervous sweat from here. They’re not going to eat you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier swaggered his next step and said, “Not unless I ask right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Remember who you belong to,” Geralt replied darkly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier smirked and tossed his head, revealing the dark hickey below the collar of his doublet. Geralt’s eyes were glued to it, and Jaskier preened under the attention. </span>
  <em>
    <span>So long as you remember who </span>
  </em>
  <span>you</span>
  <em>
    <span> belong to, my precious wolf</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He figured he met Eskel first. It was hard to say when wringing details out of Geralt; one scarred hunk sounded a lot like the next, but it was the goat that made it click. Lil Bleater, what an adorable name!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was barely sixteen and testing his material in towns around Oxenfurt. He’d nearly overstayed his welcome in this town--some podunk name that twelve other towns had. But there was a problem in the area, a death and dying problem to be exact. Jaskier hadn’t even known that a Witcher had been hired, just that the townspeople were throwing less rotten food at him. The stormcloud had lifted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not literally of course. The clouds were pissing like a cow on a flat rock, and all Jaskier wanted was to buy the baker’s stale bread. He could have used some meat, but a few loaves would get him back to Oxenfurt. He’d walked on less. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn’t help but notice the hulking form in front of the feed stall. Commerce rarely ceased, even if the weather was more fit for a cozy day inside. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Move along.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The cold tone made Jaskier freeze. Rain soaked through his new hat. He was trying out hats. So far, none of them had worked out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier squinted through the downpour to make out a man, broader than most, with a couple swords strapped on his back. Must have been a fancy mercenary to need </span>
  <em>
    <span>two</span>
  </em>
  <span> swords that big. Jaskier felt a curl of heat at the back of his tongue and wondered just how big this guy’s sword was. Jaskier’s pickup lines had gotten better over the years… still not great though.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The real delight was nestled between the swords and the man’s drawn hood. A goat, bearded and unbothered by being soaked, rested calmly on the man’s neck. The man leaned in, still well out of the stallkeeper’s space, but the seller reared back considerably. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just one bag of feed,” the man started, but the stallkeeper spat at him. Actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>spat </span>
  </em>
  <span>at him. Jaskier had never been so offended except the time Valdo Marx called his latest composition </span>
  <em>
    <span>drivel</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t serve your kind here,” the stallkeeper snarled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His kind?</span>
  </em>
  <span> The stallkeeper was mad. What was </span>
  <em>
    <span>his kind</span>
  </em>
  <span>, anyways? Men with impossibly thick thighs? Men with goats? Coin was coin, and hungry goats were hungry goats!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier watched the man turn and start out of town. Something twisted in Jaskier’s gut. He was young, but his sense of right and wrong was rock solid. Not to mention, the goat looked back at him as the man retreated. There was something mean about those wizened eyes, but then the goat bleated. A little mournful sound that Jaskier, from then on, would associate with his hunger pangs. Before he took his eyes off the dark retreating figure, Jaskier found himself at the feed stall. He turned a bright smile to the stallkeeper.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What rabble,” Jaskier commented, leaning on a tall crate of grain. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What you need?” The man asked gruffly. Jaskier pouted his lips out and fished for the last of his coin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bag of hay, please. Horse can’t get enough I might have to import your crop after I leave,” Jaskier lied smoothly. The stallkeeper eyed the paltry sum afforded but took it anyways. In return, a bag the size of his chest was passed over to the bard. He nodded his head in thanks and hurried after the figure that had already disappeared in the rain. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He caught up just on the outskirts of town. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Excuse me, sir?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The figure stiffened but didn’t fully stop.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, Mr. goatmaster, sir?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The figure finally stopped but only turned enough to acknowledge Jaskier. Not enough to show his face. The goat stared off into the distance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I happen to have some hay here, if your companion would rather straw to the kind of muddy grass you’ll be likely to find in this--ah, rainy season…” Jaskier held up the bag, and he hadn’t expected it to take this long, for the man to just be standing stock still. Usually people took things when he offered them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The goat bleated. The man shifted it on his shoulders.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you poison it?” The gruff voice held no accusation or anger, only the wearied lilt of a question asked too often. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course not,” Jaskier replied, indignation rising. “Here I am, soaked to the bone in this godforsaken storm, and this is a good doublet, by the way. Top coin for it--or at least, middling coin, I suppose, but it’ll take days to dry if it doesn’t mold, and I don’t have any use for this hay, do I look like a goat? Or a horse? Or a pig, I guess, do chickens eat--?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” the figure said. There was a ghost of a smile in it. “What do you want for it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry?” Jaskier’s hand finally dropped. The bag wasn’t heavy, but continuing to hold it out seemed ridiculous.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> for it?” The figure growled, finally turning fully, and Jaskier’s breath stuttered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What an intriguing face. There was something about the eyes that wasn’t typical; they were so light. And the scars, by Melitele, this was a man with an interesting life. He flinched back though, when Jaskier’s eyes widened and his fingers clenched around the bag. The man ducked his head, pulling his hood up tighter. Jaskier chewed on his bottom lip. If there was one thing the bard could spot it was insecurity.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I want to get out of this blasted rain,” Jaskier said. He bent, dropping the bag on a decent sized rock that wasn’t coated in mud, and he turned on his heel. His shitty, so shitty, Melitele’s tits he needed new boots, squelched and sent up splashes of grime as he hastened back to the town. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glanced over his shoulder and saw the man heading away, a dull bag tucked under his arm. Jaskier’s stomach bleated like that hungry goat, but he tried to pay it no mind. He could sleep off the worst of it, and then a hot meal was waiting for him at Oxenfurt. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He and Lambert were thrown together during Jaskier’s last semester. The university liked to loan out bards for the local lordlings. It kept palms greased and gave bards real experience. Unluckily for Jaskier, he’d been given a rather asshole lord to perform for. He’d been well supplied with food and wine, but Jaskier ended up a little more like a court jester. Ready to roll with the punches, he accepted the role with a winning smile, but then more wine came. When the lord’s lecher wife slid him another glass, who was he to refuse? When her hand found the insides of his breeches, well shit, he hadn’t been taught how to refuse </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then the lord had him by the arm, and he wasn’t in the banquet hall anymore. He was in a back room. A room that looked suspiciously like a murder room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier yelped when a large man emerged from the shadows. Adorned with two swords and wicked black armor. Something about him felt familiar, but Jaskier was sure if he’d ever seen that scarily handsome face, he would have remembered it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your coin for the wyverns,” the lord said and dropped a bag onto the floor. The heavily armored one (the </span>
  <em>
    <span>knight</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Jaskier thought romantically) scooped it up, weighing it in his hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is barely half,” the knight said, words vacillating between a threat and a strained statement.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Be grateful, Witcher. Take the boy as the difference, and be out of my castle before the night watch takes over.” With that, the lord returned to his celebration, leaving Jaskier to steady himself against a hard stone wall. The knight--the Witcher--poured the coins into his hand to count them, completely ignoring Jaskier.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Witcher,” Jaskier said, tasting the word on his tongue. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go back to the party,” the Witcher grumbled and turned to exit out a door that seemed to materialize out of no where. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think it would be a rather--” Jaskier took a stumbling step forward. “--short trip”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Witcher’s hulking form paused in the doorway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Make trouble, did you?” In the evening light, the Witcher’s smirk was easy to make out. Jaskier continued his long trek across the small room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“His wife seemed to like my set a little too much,” Jaskier sniffed. “Besides, I was getting turned out later anyways.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They didn’t provide you housing for the night?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier pouted. “No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Free advice, bard,” the Witcher laughed. “Get a bed before downing the brewery.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey!” Jaskier made it across and leaned into the Witcher’s space. “I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>entertaining</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, well, have fun </span>
  <em>
    <span>entertaining</span>
  </em>
  <span> the night watch. I’m sure someone will take pity--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier’s hand landed on the Witcher’s bicep, and he tilted his head, showing off a neck that begged to be bitten.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re just going to leave me here? Aren’t you supposed to help people?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>That</span>
  </em>
  <span> hit a nerve. Jaskier was suddenly backed against the doorframe, a gloved hand around his neck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I kill monsters,” the Witcher spat. “And it doesn’t look like you have the coin to hire me anyways.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Witcher’s eyes made a lengthy sweep over Jaskier’s body, noting a distinct lack of a coin purse or any other practical thing that might help him out in the wild. It was like the bard was asking to get killed, and the Witcher supposed someone had already come close to fulfilling that tonight. He held no allusions about why the bard had been dumped on him. The lord probably expected him to do the dirty work.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Surely,” the bard gasped. “There’s something other than coin that could interest you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He arched his back against the stone, pressing himself into the tough leather chestplate. The Witcher thumbed over Jaskier’s throat, loosening the hold. His nostrils flared, searching for any stink of fear but only smelled wine and a steadily growing lust.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Follow,” He ordered, stalking out onto the grounds of the estate. His horse was tethered a ways away; no lordling cared for a Witcher’s horse. Jaskier scrambled to obey, finding himself remarkably more sober in the cooling night air. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m Jaskier the soon to be famous bard. What name can I call you?” His steps were still heavy, but his vision was no longer fuzzy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t need names when your mouth is full.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>All Jaskier could remember about meeting what he could only assume was Vesemir was how devilishly strong such a shallow river could be. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After graduating, Jaskier had gone out with his fellow bards for the time honored tradition of skinny dipping. A recent storm had left their swimming hole absolutely burgeoning, and high off academic success and no small amount of ale, they all lept in without a thought for the white-capped ripples.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Three of them were promptly swept away, Jaskier among them. His friend Bella managed to crash into a small boulder and cling to it without dashing her brains out. Jaskier and Melanie, however, clung to each other as they were rushed downstream. A family of rocks scraped up Jaskier’s back, and Melanie took a log of driftwood to the temple. It was all Jaskier could do to keep her above water after the blow stunned her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were lucky it was a full moon. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Among everything happening to Jaskier, he managed to notice a shadow following them downstream. He fumbled with Melanie’s slippery body and tried to summon the air to scream.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Help--!” The latter half of it ended gurgled when Jaskier’s beating foot caught a stone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He saw the shadow plunge into the river ahead of them and then felt as if a jilted lover whacked him over the ribs with an iron bar. It knocked what little breath he had out, and he scrambled to keep a hold on Melanie. The current stopped carrying them, but it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>pulling,</span>
  </em>
  <span> pulling so much Jaskier could hardly take a breath against it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They hit solid ground. Jaskier was lifted, and he became a baby koala clinging to Melanie’s back. His mind ran in rivulets faster than the stream, but he knew he wasn’t about to let her go. Not until they were safe. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Leaves dug into his knees, and he could finally breathe again. The shadow became more of a man, a bulky man with quick, calloused hands that pried the unconscious Melanie from his grasp. Jaskier sat back on his heels, gaping wide-eyed as the man laid her out, probing her injured forehead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a moment, he declared gruffly, “She’ll be fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He rose, and Jaskier saw his worn boots turn away. The bard was having none of it. He flung himself out, snagging the man’s forearm. It dragged his naked knees across the forest floor, but he among the raging in his head and the dull ache, well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>everywhere</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he couldn’t find it in himself to care.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gazed up, his blue eyes catching the moonlight. They glowed, almost like the gold ones glaring back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Jaskier rasped. His fingers twitched over well-mended leather, and though the moon cast darkness over his savior’s face, Jaskier could make out salt and pepper hair, a stern brow. The shadow of two swords. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man grunted, but he gingerly pulled away from Jaskier’s grasp. His head twitched. Jaskier heard the faint call of his friends. As the man turned to leave, Jaskier caught the shine of a pendant, displayed proudly on a broad chest. A silver wolf. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Six months later, he nearly fainted upon seeing another one. He vowed that this golden-eyed warrior wasn’t getting away like the rest.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Geralt…” Jaskier began. He’d worried his lip until it bled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt sniffed the air and turned with a look of furious betrayal. Jaskier, stunned at the sheer range of emotion, froze the few scant meters from Kaer Morhen’s doors. Geralt dismounted and stomped over to Jaskier, grabbing the bard by the arm. He leaned in fast but stopped to hover over Jaskier’s lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Softly, he pressed a kiss there. All the tension melted from Jaskier who sighed. The tip of Geralt’s tongue probed gently at raw skin, the split in Jaskier’s lip where a bead of blood had gathered. Geralt hummed deep in his chest, a hum that usually meant Jaskier was in trouble. But he was going to enjoy it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know I’m the only one who gets to make you bleed,” Geralt said lowly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Melitele’s tits,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Geralt was never this filthy. Jaskier had noticed the swagger to his Witcher’s usually contained walk, the volume unguarded on the scant few comments thrown his way. It must have been something about Kaer Morhen, about Geralt’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>home</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that was going to make this an interesting winter indeed--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier’s preening was interrupted by the rough scrape of boots.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank the gods, Geralt, it’s been </span>
  <em>
    <span>ages</span>
  </em>
  <span> since we had a whore for the winter!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier’s heart dropped through his toes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That voice sounded familiar.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And to think we’ve just been making do with you all these years,” Geralt sniped back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turned to find his family emerging from the well-weathered doors of Kaer Morhen. Lambert led them, but he had no eye for Geralt. All attention was focused on Jaskier. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt’s brows twitched together; he’d sent a letter ahead. Vesemir agreed to his request for a guest. So why was Lambert looking like the cat that ate the canary, Eskel doing everything but blushing, and Vesemir looking particularly unreadable?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Geralt, darling, love of my life and all that is beyond--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Jaskier got this poetic he was either about to drop bad news or about to come, and Geralt had serious doubts about his own kissing abilities that would make it the latter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jaskier, what did you do?” Geralt growled. Jaskier gave a churlish giggle, the nervousness positively bubbling over. He blinked coyly towards his Witcher.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“At least I’m not the only one to have seen him naked,” Vesemir commented, doing nothing to break the tension and only serving to dig Jaskier a deeper grave, the ass!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt looked about at the boiling point.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I never said I undressed him, just that he’s got a whore mouth--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt’s fist ended Lambert’s sentence. It didn’t land, Lambert dodging out of the way at the last second, but Geralt caught him on the back swing, sending an elbow into Lambert’s eye socket. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jaskier, what the fuck?” Geralt’s nostrils flared, stray hairs framing his wild face in a halo of silver. Jaskier was both anxious </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> horny. It did not help.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He chose his favorite tactic.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eskel! How is your goat doing?” Jaskier weaved around Geralt and Lambert to make a beeline for the Witcher least likely to humiliate him further. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eskel’s eyes went wide like prey in front of a predator, a quite unusual expression for any Witcher to have. His gaze darted from Jaskier to Geralt as if unsure who the true predator was. Jaskier paid him no mind, stuffing his arm through Eskel’s and tugging his astonished form towards the castle doors.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m thankful only one animal has caught my Beloved’s heart, for truly if I had to share it with anyone but Roach, I might become a little jealous.” Jaskier risked a glance back at Geralt and couldn’t help the smile that bloomed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll show him jealous,” Geralt muttered, low enough for Jaskier to miss it amongst his babbling but well within range of a Witcher’s hearing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just air out your room when you’re done,” Vesemir sighed, truly put upon. “I won’t have you stinking up the halls.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt stalked after his wayward bard. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
</body>
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